


praetor's guard

by audentis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, M/M, Major Character Injury, Past Lives, Sort Of, i also dont know how to write fight scenes im sorry, im sorry for the angst too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25778260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audentis/pseuds/audentis
Summary: To hell and backto heaven and backand have and do and will.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	praetor's guard

**Author's Note:**

> hihi! this is my *very rushed* entry for Bokuaka Week day 9!! as i said this is rushed and im not really contented with it but i wanted to put it out there so yeah i might come back to edit it when school isnt being a bitch though anyways im sorry if this hurts you!! enjoy :D

> _To hell and back_
> 
> _to heaven and back_
> 
> _and have and do and will._

_  
  
_

The young prince gazed out into the distant stars, wondering what secrets they beheld. But as he pondered the gentle message they whispered in his ears, the gusting winds of the river valley below called him home. 

“Your Royal Highness.”

He turned to glance at the figure who stood at the entryway. He stiffened his posture, half expecting it to be another errand boy sent by his father. “What is it? Oh.”

“You should be in bed.” said his new companion, who was careful enough to lock the door behind him.

“What have you done with Koutarou?” Akaashi said, partly teasing, partly in defiance. “As I recall, he was one who often stayed up well past curfew.”

“Your father wants you up early tomorrow.” said the older, matter-of-factly. 

Akaashi let his body relax, he did not need to be his usual, prim and proper self in the presence of his oldest friend. Propping his head back on his hands, he gazed up into the deep black of the night, determined to forget the menial things in life. 

“The ceremony does not begin until half past noon, and I do not bother with such vanities anyway. I will be awake in time.”

Bokuto wandered over to join him on the terrace, and leaned against the cold chiseled marble. As he too regarded the ever-expanding abyss, his golden eyes seemed to glow with the luminescence of a quasar as they reflected Luna's silvery beams. “Mhm, I did tell him I could not convince you.”

“What is it you are really here for?” The younger queried, raising an eyebrow. It was uncommon for late night visits like this due to the rush of the morning before, but it was strange considering the whole day had been spent milling aimlessly around the grounds together. “Father could have sent anyone else, yet you came.”

“You hurt me.” The other responded mockingly, holding a hand over his supposedly bruised heart. “Am I not welcome here anymore?”

“Answer the question or I shall kick you out myself.” 

“Well.” The idea of falling into the prince's bad graces a day before he was presented the key to the country would not sit well with anyone. So, Bokuto with misty eyes, and too much reminiscence in his own mended heart touched the ring hanging around his neck which told a story of decades of loyal companionship, reciprocal trust, and the faintest hint of longing for a reality that did not exist. “It is not everyday you become Prince Regent. I came to see you off.”

The prince rolled his eyes, and affectionately poked at his arm. “Stop being so dramatic." He said, with a tone that was soft yet scolding. "Nothing will change, except for an additional title. I will not even be leaving the country.”

“But it will be different, to some extent.”

Akaashi quickly dismissed the comment with the fluttery wave of his hand. It was needless to fret about claims that only had erroneous prospects as anchorage. “You are worrying over trivial reasons. A new title is appointed to me every few months, this one just happens to be of higher acclaim.”

“And the war in the South?” Bokuto effectively countered.

“What about it?”

The light in those golden eyes seemed to snuff out, and the moon’s beams seemed to glow harsh and brash. Of course, both already knew of the circumstances that had taken place the fortnight before, an unfortunate skirmish at the edge of the evergreen forest that rimmed the country.

“The Consul, and his personal guard were slaughtered a few days ago.”

The Consul had been an old friend of his father's and one Akaashi had had prior experiences with, good ones at that. His timely demise had only created a wider ravine, and whipped the fervor of war into a churning storm. “It is the sad reality of war, Koutarou." Akaashi sighed resignedly, thinking of the memories of the man he looked up to be a father figure. "Even the best of us can be struck down by the enemy.”

“Your father will send someone to replace him.” The other continued, with a tense tone, and clenched fists which was a rarity to see from the well-trained officer. “He also plans on concentrating reinforcements in that area, as he refuses to bow down to the Grand King.”

The Grand King was merely a hyperbolic sobriquet of a man desired to be feared where he did not have the skill, nor power to rule even his own court. The south had always been considered tumultuous territory, but his ascension to the throne had cemented its reputation as a paradise for the lawless.

“Father should not need to worry. He is young, and inexperienced, and is bound to make an unwise decision somewhere along the road. And once he does, we will be in position to exploit it.”

“If we go off to war.”

“We will not." Akaashi refuted, shaking his head. "Father would not risk it.”

Words were meaningless without belief in them, and his ebbed like they, themselves, were still trying to prove their sincerity to their owner. The two countries had been at constant odds with each other since the unruly administration had demanded unquestioned autonomy from the state. The refusal to grant this execrable request was met with a cascading waterfall of political power grabs and economic blockades, and barbaric ultimatums. It was irresponsible and unsustainable, and a foot would have to be set down eventually, and Akaashi could already see the dawn of conflagration on the horizon.

“Koutarou.”

The other man did not respond nor acknowledge the calling of his name, and only looked up into the heavens. Maybe it was a silent prayer to the gods, as if these predictions would manifest themselves into reality if one prostrated enough. Or maybe he too saw the fiery orange embers of Eos glimmering over the twilight, and maybe he too was savoring the last inklings of amity before the maws of discord came to snap it up whole.

You should get some sleep now.” The man said, soft soles pattering against the marble as he strode to take his leave. "Good night, Keiji.”

“Good night.” 

* * *

_  
  
_

_“Until the very end.” The little boy said, appetent glee swimming in the foil gold._

_“Do you promise?” The other asked quite dubiously. He was not convinced of the sincerity of this spontaneous vow._

_“Yes, I promise.”The response was hasty, yet confident and did not permit any further thought to which the one with the raven hair and blue eyes only cocked his head to the side. After all, binding oaths should not be taken with so much levity in their rise and falls._

_“You should not make promises you cannot keep.” He said in a voice no louder than a whisper in the wind._

_“And why do you assume this promise cannot be kept?” The more energetic of the two inquired, addled by the lack of belief._

_“Because promises in war are never kept, my father said so.” The prince replied like a quotation from an ancient text was being cited. “And broken vows are only a cause of strife.”_

_“Well, your father has not made many oaths with honorable people, has he?” The little boy asked fearlessly. He did not yet know the weight of the man’s office._

_“You have a point.” The prince said thoughtfully, neither were surprised at the agreement to this passive accusation to the country’s royalty. “The foreign men the court has been hosting have been less than appealing, but Father says I should not meddle with these things until I grow older.”_

_“So you will become Prince Regent.”_

_The younger nodded. “Yes, it has been decreed since my birth that I will be taking a place as the King’s right hand when I turn twenty.”_

_“And you will become king if that happens?” There was a rush of excitement into the words. The prospect of having your best friend installed as the king was quite a thought for the boy._

_“Of course, in the event of Father’s death or abdication, I will take his place on the throne.”_

_“And you will be sent to war, and fight on the battlefield?” The assumption that the boy’s words could not rise or fall with more exhilaration in their tone was completely fallacious. The radiation of euphoria was practically visible, as if the words themselves had been written into the air with the wind for a pen._

_“Most likely.”_

_The boy stared at the prince with glimmering gold orbs that shone stellar. He adored him, never had he met someone he was so drawn to, despite most of their countrymen not even knowing of the child royal’s existence. The same could be said for the latter, who looking at the son of his father’s general, could only immerse in wonder for he too was unlike any foreign dignitary he had ever met._

_And this was the tale of two boys, of opposite sides of the veil, yet so interconnected in their essence. Maybe the Fates had learned to grow a compassionate bone after all these years, but one could only hold out to the little fires of hope that it were not to break before these bandaged dreams could be properly mended into the universe’s fabric.._

_“I will stand by you when the time comes, Ji. I promise.” The boy told the prince, confidence and certainty lined every word, as if he were a better oracle than the Pythia of Delphi._

_“Of course, and so will I, like we promised.”_

* * *

_  
  
_

“Do you remember the promise we made all those years ago?” The prince asked, head buried in the pages of yet another covetous text.

The officer hummed, recalling those times of utter indulgence, and childish ideals that the two boys confessed to the world. “We were so young.”

“But the promise still stands?” The former asked, carefully placing the leather clad pages on the scarred wood.

“Only seconded by the oath I took to protect the King’s only son.”

Akaashi rubbed the space in between his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if that were not enough evidence of the fatigue that had ladden him. “The Grand King and his forces are fairing off much better than expected, thanks in part to his unusually reliable lieutenant. But the kingdom will emerge from this war victorious, I am confident of this.”

“And how can you be so sure of this?” The other asked. Neither wanted to doubt this branched off reality as existing in the now, but as the sun dipped out of the cerulean horizon once more, it was getting harder to hold onto the ropes.

But the prince responded with a look in his eyes that did not, at all, seem human. “Because we have waded in more treacherous waters than this. The kingdom has not lost war, nor ruler in a hundred years. The Fates are on our side.” 

Bokuto wrung his wrists with his hands. The Fates were always a tricky subject, and like victory itself, displayed an unexplainable duality. It was important to surmise early on that Fate was not to be considered an ally, but as a thorn in the side, one that would ensure the worst outcomes for both factions. Yet the King’s regent had so confidently avoided this fact with callous determination, it was almost ineffable the fire that seemed to burn in his being.

“Ji.”

He blinked surprised at the utterance of the epithet that had been given to him all those years ago. It sounded strange now, after so long off dormancy, like rusted gears set in motion after a hard rain. “You have not called me that in years.”

No response was given, only a look that both understood. Not here, not now, not in this age and time for they had both reconciled themselves with the fact that it was an impossibility, they were battling the universe itself. There was no road to success, nor was there any of avoidance, only one of inevitable defeat at the hands of the architects.

But as liquid gold met the blue of the firmaments, they might as well have fought the universe’s forces. 

“When a resolution is found, when I become king, we will be able to live happier.” He said assuredly, lacing these words, and a threat to the heavens into the very fabrics of time and space.

An urge to reach out, a hand that complied, but retracted all the same. Not here, not now, not in this age and time, for this would only cause them more pain. But they could dream of a better world, in another life maybe, where the judges of the cosmos would look down on them with kinder eyes, and grant their deepest desires.

“I would like that.” He said with a small smile, with a wish to say more, but an unspoken order to speak less.

The tranquility was broken by an urgent commotion in the hallways. Following suit was a rapid rapping on the door by the guards outside, and the interruption of a bed-wrangled messenger.

“Your Royal Highness!”

Both men did nothing, startled by the sudden intrusion. The prince looked up at the frazzled courier who was still heaving from his journey back. “What is it?” 

“Your Father” The lanky man exclaimed breathlessly. “He and the legion were ambushed by the enemy.” 

Alarm broke through the dam of serenity, and flowed through the room. “How is he?” He asked, with wide eyes, and a foreign sense of dread that was only a premonition of what was about to come.

An uncomfortable silence followed, with the newcomer nervously tugging at his garments, seemingly unprepared for the deliverance of the distressing news.

“I am afraid he is one of the fallen.”

* * *

_“What does a prince do if not studying to become the King’s successor?” asked the curious boy one day, as they sat in the shade of a grown oak tree. Light streamed through the crevices in between the emerald leaves, and chocolate bark, creating a splay of beams that they had likened to daytime stars._

_“Well, Mother often takes me along with her to the gardens.” The prince answered. “The flowers there are very beautiful, especially in the spring, but she is hosting someone of an acquaintance, we will not be able to go there now.”_

_“Is that all you do?” The boy asked again, while carelessly trying to capture the yellow butterfly in his bare hands._

_“Hmm, and other things in which you would not have any interest in, reading tutorial texts, practicing the violin, and whatnot.”_

_He immediately loosened his gaze on the now fleeing insect to make a disgusted face. “Yuck.” He said as he stuck his tongue out and gagged. “How do you not fall asleep doing such boring tasks?”_

_The prince laughed a rare, tinkling laugh, that might have been the sweetest sound in existence“Well, what do you do when not in training?”_

_“You said you liked flowers?”_

_The plains were vast, and opened to the blue sky above. Mountains prodded at the ether, peaks disappearing into the cotton cumulus. The winds swept down their slopes, and raced throughout, soft and tickling. It was a beautiful sight, sparseness of a similar view seen in the prince’s eyes as he stared in awe of this hidden well of nature. The boy, who had known of this place for years, and had decided to share it with his cherished friend, led him into the tall forest of grass that grew taller than they were. And suddenly they emerged into the valley’s true secret._ _  
  
_

_“They are very pretty.” The prince answered as he took the fragile petal of one of the blue flowers. “What are they?”_

_“I do not know” The other said, who had picked a few and looked perfectly content sniffing their sweet smell. “I just like looking at them, and they smell nice, here!”_

_“But you do not know what they are?” The younger of the two asked, looking at the flora with emergent apprehension._

_The boy settled himself into a bush of them, serenely watching the long stems sway in the afternoon breeze. “Does it really matter?”_

_“Yes, actually.” The prince stated. “ Some flowers can kill. For instance, a yew tree gifted by a visiting official was planted in the center of the courtyards. It was discovered to cause severe convulsions and the incapacitation of grown men after a servant ingested a leaf.”_

_The boy sat up, a mixture of confusion and shock strewn into his features. “Why would he eat a leaf? Is he some kind of animal?”_

_“No, not at all.” The prince added with a small giggle. “It was rumored they had sweetness to them, and curiosity overthrew his mind. At any rate, he lay ill even to this day.”_

_Horror overtook, the boy’s eyes widening in urgent alarm. “That is horrible! I have not attempted to taste any of them, but I do think they are not dangerous. My mother showed them to me as a baby, and I have been playing here almost every day since then!” He said, glancing at the blossoms that covered the entirety of the land_

_“How do you play in a valley with only grass and soil?” It was a genuine question on the child royal’s part. He had never been allowed to play much outside of the grounds, and away from the watchful eyes of his nurse. He had always managed to entertain himself through various tricks and toys the servants presented him with._

_“Like this.” And the boy took off, as fast as his feet could take him. The prince, with no other choice, followed in suit, weaving through the flowering vegetation to try and catch up with his friend._

_They sped through the valley, with no direction, or desire to stop. Exhilaration filled their beings, as they let the winds lead them to wherever it wanted them to go. And minutes, or hours had passed and the prince had finally caught up to the boy whose feet carried him like the whipping gale. As they sat amongst the greenery, tired and aching, yet perfectly content, a rustle of the breeze was heard in the distance._

_“Prince Keiji? Where are you?”_

_The older woman emerged from the bushery, after following the sound of joyous laughter, and the striking of feet on the ground. She glanced around for a while before spotting the two boys in the beds of flowers._

_“There you are!” She exclaimed with relief. “What have I mentioned about running off?” She motioned for the two to come to her, not willing to dirty her clothes with the soft mud that they had laid themselves on._

_“Hello there, Koutarou.” The prince’s nurse said at the sight of the other boy. “Your father has been searching for you. You should be heading back as well.”_

_The prince tugged at his nanny’s sleeve.“But I want to continue playing.”_

_The woman only sighed a little, before unlatching herself from his grip. “It is getting late.” She explained in a calm, yet stern voice. “And we do not want your mother to worry. Maybe another time, yes?” To which the boy only nodded at the ground sadly._

_“Alright then, say your goodbyes now. You will be seeing each other tomorrow anyways.”_

_The prince turned to his new friend with eyes still brimming with joy, and memories that were sure to last him a lifetime. “Bye, Kou.”_

_The little boy waved enthusiastically as the woman led the prince back through the grass.“Bye bye, Ji!”_

_  
  
  
_

“Your Royal Highness, are you ready?”

The young king did not bother looking up from the rolled open scrolls and yellowed maps that filled the wooden table. “How does it look outside?”

The sentinel leaned against his sword before answering warily. “Enemy forces are concentrated on the East and West of the valley, there are rumors the Grand King himself has joined the fight.” At the mention of their mutual enemy, the atmosphere went cold and numb. “If accounts are to be believed, he is single-handedly slaughtering by the tens.”

Akaashi grimaced at the news. Was his opponent so desperate as to join the battle himself? He had heard the rumors, of course, the tactical brilliance, and calculating nature of the South’s king. Much like the land in which he ruled, he was lawless, and did not hesitate to kill anyone who stood in his way. “Will the formations hold?”

“The advisors have claimed they will last as long as they do not emerge from the rear.”

  
  
An exasperated sigh followed by the slamming of a compass into the worn wood echoed through the tent. “My father’s advisors are politicians. Even at times of war, they serve to please, and only present what they wish for me to see.” The boy king exclaimed, reordering pieces on the maps that had toppled over. “I hold your opinion at a higher caliber to theirs, so what do you think?”

“You will not like it.” Bokuto said quietly.

Anger seeped in once more, this war had been raging on for many years now, and the prolonged battle was considered a turning point for many. They could not risk yielding to the enemy now. “If you give a doctored report to preserve optimism, how does that make you any different from them?”

Painful silence was the only thing that hung in the air, only accompanied by the agonizing weights of dread. They both knew what the other was thinking, and it was certainly an unwelcomed thought.

“Retreat is a better option.”

Like a hammer striking the surface of the forge, the statement came down hard, and with the force of brute honesty and the inescapable truth. 

Akaashi shook his head in utter defiance, bitterness and wrath brimming at the surface, only clothed in a thin, ripping sheet of composure. “Surrender is not a possibility I am willing to entertain.”

“Keiji, this is not about the victorious front you promised anymore.” The older said, surging forward. “There are men, boys, children not yet into adolescence who are lying dead in the wasteland. We will not be able to sustain this fight any longer, much less win.”

The king, seemingly impervious to his words, glanced up to face his trusted comrade with wavering eyes and the cruelest sentiments at heart. He knew of the implications, they were his men dying out there day after day, week after week, but the leaddened promise made to the Fates was one he could not ignore. “My father swore we would be victorious.”

“You asked for my opinion, here it is.” Bokuto said, irritation flashing in his every word. “Your father was foolish and brash, and led us straight into certain demise. The scales of balance were never tipped in our favor, the Fates were merely toying with what was left of the no-longer great.” He looked at his oldest friend pleadingly, with an expression only reserved for fighting for something he believed in. “Keiji, you are the first in your line who had some sensibility to doubt this conflict. Please, be the one to end it.”

He dropped his wavering gaze, he could not meet the eyes of his loyal companion any longer. The king’s mouth filled with sour tasting words that he regretfully uttered. “I am sorry, Koutarou, but I cannot, for the honor of my father, and of our country.”

The prince brushed aside the maps and charts, and sat down in the weathered chair that had once belonged to his father. Head in his hands, he refused to look up, he could not. The weight of his disappointment, and humiliation burned and ate away at his very soul. What was he doing this for? He wondered silently, as his trusted confidante looked on. What had he become? He questioned, as he thought back to the faces of those who had reached an untimely demise due to his pride and foolishness. 

“You were clouded by your experiences with me. I am not so different from my father, and grandfathers, and those who came before them.” He said with shame protruding through his words. “They were men of war, and I was raised as such, it was an inevitability for me to follow suit. In truth, I do not hold the power to stop the bloodshed, nor would I if I did.” 

Unkingly tears flowed down his cheeks, staining the ancient sheets, but he could not care less. With all his diminished strength, the boy king looked up at his oldest friend, his most trusted officer whom he had just betrayed for the ideals of a man long gone, yet who he still clung to like he had not already crossed over into Hades. “I disappointed you, and I am truly sorry. I understand if it is your desire to leave this mortal hell, but all I ask is this. Stand with me one last time on the battlefield.”

Was it guilt, was it anger, was it just pure disappointment, and mortification at what the former prince had become? He wanted to shake his head at the man he failed to recognize as the boy he had grown up with, but he chided himself instead. This was an inevitability of tutelage under warmongers. Even the best were bound to be struck down. 

But he had an oath, a promise to fulfill. Not just the vow that was burned onto his skin, and had intertwined itself into his very essence. No, the promise he had made to the young prince who he refused to accept was long gone, and replaced by a man who had been curated in his father’s image. The Keiji that stood before him might have been different, warped in more than just ideals and realisms, but he would not let the Fates take away that last piece of him that he clung on to. 

“Of course. I swore an oath to protect you, and I intend to fulfill it.” He said. “Until the very end.”

* * *

_“War is much too foolish, even for a country as rich as us.” The prince answered forcefully, determined to stop his father from doing the one thing he feared the most._

_“Son.” The weathered man said plainly. “You must face the scarred reality, rather than bury yourself in your mother’s books. War is a way of life, and it is one we have carried on for generations with pride and honor. We cannot, and will not simply resign ourselves to peace for the sake of forlorn idealisms.”_

_“But what good does this do for us?” He asked, desperation rising up to the surface.”Your people beg to differ with your sentiments, Father. They, themselves have seen the blood and chaos of the battlefronts, and they decry this brazen course of action!”_

_The old man, with years of hardship, and burden etched into his skin simply waved a hand at his only son. “The decision is done, the first cannons shall lay waste to the city in a fortnight. Best we make preparations rather than try to alter the truth.”_

* * *

“My, my, my, if it is not the boy king himself? What sort of desperation has led you to fight alongside your comrades?”

The fields were slick with the blood and entrails of the fallen, bodies, innumerable in their count and unrecognizable in their injuries laid around them. The Grand King stood before him, blood splattered, and worn from the days of brazen combat, yet his eyes still gleamed with insatiable hunger.

Suddenly, he surged forward, metal clashing, and scraping, the two stuck in the eternal dance of death. Akaashi only glanced impassively as another blow came from the left, which he parried it quickly knocking the other back from recoil. His foe only sneered devilishly, wiping blood from his stark white cheek. 

“Tell me.” He crowed. “Was this for your father, your pride, your honor?”

The glint of iron sliced through the air faster than the opponent could register. The point of his sword met its mark, cleanly slicing into his opponent’s side. The Grand King gritted his teeth as he looked at the crimson gash tainting his pierced armor.

“I am doing this for my people. We will not be defeated by those who wish to feed off past grievances, is that not why you are here?”

It struck the right cord. The beaten down man rose and thrusted the battered blade, fury burning in his eyes. Akaashi only had time to dodge the first blow before the next came at an inhuman speed. He tried to parry it, but was hit by the flat of the blade, sending him staggering backwards. His opponent fixed on him with the rage of one who had known too much suffering for a lifetime.  
  


“My brother is long gone.” He growled low as he spat coppery blood onto the ground. The laceration on his side was wide, and stark red against the prevalent turquoise. “So is my father, and sister. They hold no sway over my decisions.”

The wound was wide opened now, only decisive exploitation was needed for the world to crash and burn around him. In a way, Akaashi did not want to do it. He had lost people too, countless friends and relatives and family to this vile and gruesome conflict, but he knew, to lose no more, he had to conquer his adversary first. He balanced himself on the uneven terrain, and whispered calmly. 

“I am sorry about your lieutenant.”

That did it. Without a glimpse of hesitation, and a complete disregard for tactical strategy, the Grand King charged at him head on. The air filled with the renewed sound of clashing and striking of blades as the two lions of the battlefield fought it out. But the rumors did not justify the prowess of an enemy, enraged by his past loyalties lost due to the senseless war. 

Akaashi had not expected the strike to come, but it did. Through the corner of his eye, he could see the faint swish of the hidden dagger, and the incoming attack of the red-stained sword. He chose the former, the grips of death tightening around him as the blade lodged itself into his shoulder.

The gods were his only hope now. Warm blood oozed from the wound, and the iron turned his veins to ice. His head was throbbing, and yellow spots danced in front of his eyes as if mocking him for not being strong enough.

He did not register the Grand King’s gleeful cackling, nor did he take notice of his inherent surprise when a sword was driven through his chest. He only watched as, wide-eyed, he fell to his knees and gripped the earth, mortal ichor sprinkling the grass below with scarlet.

“Keiji?” A warm hand caressed his cheek, and he leaned into the comforting touch. He felt the iron skewer pulled out of his shoulder, and his wound draped with a soft cloth. “It is going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.” The chaos of the battle around them faded into the white, as Bokuto whispered softly cradling his head in his hands. 

“Koutarou, I-”

The sharpened edge of a sword drove through flesh and bone, as surprised emerged on the other’s face. The Grand King staggered backwards, releasing the hilt of his sword before finally collapsing onto the corpse-strewn earth.

“Kou?” 

Blood raced through the seams of his white uniform where the ruler of the badlands had impaled him as his final act on this god-forsaken world. Akaashi caught his head before it hit the ground, pain flaring and his body screamed in pain from the impact, but it felt small, and irrelevant.

“It’s ok. Keiji, it's ok.” He said assuredly as he choked on the blood rising up his throat. 

“You promised.” The younger sobbed as he stared at the fading life of his dearest friend. “When I became king.”

“The possibility was never within our grasp.” He smiled, features contorted in pain, as he grasped the once-prince’s hands in his own. “In another lifetime, or in another century maybe, but Fate was never on our side from the beginning.”

“You have to stay!” Akaashi cried, clutching the latter’s frost-bitten fingers.

“We could never be happy here, not when the world was fighting against us.” He reached out to wipe tears that fell in a current down his companion’s face. “But do not cry, we were always destined to find each other, and we will find each other again, in another plane of reality, where we can be free, until then…”

“You promised you would stand by me!”

“I did, Ji. I did, with all my soul, and with all my being, until…” He smiled weakly, determined to commit to memory the face of his friend, his companion whom he promised his life too all those years ago, amongst the sprawling mountains and blue hyacinths, and again in the royal court, in front of a gilded, but worn old man. His voice was no more than a whisper in the wind now, and his lungs rasped as he gasped his final breath. “Until the very end.”

And among the scarlet stained hyacinths, and the crumbling ramparts of the once-great empire, there stood its fallen ruler, and a love that was never destined to last.

At least, in this lifetime anyway.

_  
  
_

* * *

20XX

“You go on ahead, I'll catch up with you in a second.”

The museum was clogged with tourists, and locals alike, all determined to get a glimpse of the relics and remnants of ancient times, and of kingdoms and places, of people long gone. Akaashi maneuvered through the throngs of people in search of his friend who had decided to take an emergency phone call without informing him first. 

“Alright, just don’t get lost. Remember, one floor down, left through Ancient Greece, and turn the hallway past Assyria. There’s a big sign that says the “Age of Renaissance”.” He rattled off into his phone, trying to drown out the commotion around him.

“Don’t worry about me.” was all that was said before the line went dead.

He sighed, and rubbed his temple. He should have brought some kind of noise cancelling earplugs, or maybe some Advil because the crowds were making him nauseous. Heading back into the structure, he made his way to the designated meeting place, marked with a giant, eloquently scripted sign that glared against the harsh lights.

“Praetor’s Guard. Circa 16XX. Unknown artist.”

The oil painting was yellowed at the corners despite the restoration efforts, but was beautiful nonetheless. A depiction of a king’s personal guard stood looking at the painter stoically, sword sheathed, and the gold of its hilt harmonizing with his tailored white uniform. 

Strange. A memory tugged, small and faint yet still there, buried in the depth of his subconscious. Akaashi did not recognize it, nor did he make sense of it, but the sweet smell of hyacinths wafted in the air as he stared at the ancient piece of art.

“The Prince-Regent. Circa 16XX. Unknown artist.”

His head throbbed even more, and he winced in pain as if his brain was trying to pull at something that was buried too far deep. He refocused at the other painting, and could only stare in shock at the prince sitting in the gilded frame. 

An impossibility, a tip too far on the scales of reality. But maybe Fate had grown a compassionate bone after all, and had managed to keep it from shattering through all these years. This day and age, this lifetime, it declared in a loud cry. 

Blue met gold, and a hand responded to the urge to reach out, but this time, it did not falter. The younger pressed the warm hand onto his cheek, leaning into the comfort of the man’s touch.

“You said you would stand by me.”

The other man smiled softly. “I did, until the very end.”

_  
  
  
  
_

**Author's Note:**

> i just want to put it out there i am a seijoh stan and i love oikawa with all my soul but the angst called for it im also sorry if this hurt you aksjdfaklsdjfh
> 
> anyways if you want to scream at me  
> Twitter: @sakuspvce


End file.
